


The Seduction of Eddie Winter

by Holy_Leonards_After_Dark (Holy_Leonards)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Butt baby Nick, Cheating, Crack, DiMA's Literature, Fight Club - Freeform, Fisting, Flashback, M/M, Second Birth, Unbirthing, noir, paramour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:29:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holy_Leonards/pseuds/Holy_Leonards_After_Dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick reminisces about his good old cheating days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seduction of Eddie Winter

A gun, gripped firmly in hand, slams into Winter's' face. Again, and again. The ghoul's face splits and bursts. Irradiated blood pools under his head, staining his white hair pink.

In between hits, Nick narrates. “God! I remember how smooth that skin used to be. How it felt up again my body. My beautiful body, with my beautiful legs, and my beautiful torso. I used to be so much more than a beat up junkbot. _”_

“Nick, I think that's enough,” Nate says, gently. “You're getting all narrate-y again.”

Curie, brought along for reasons unknown, touches Nick's shoulder, only to be shook off with a glare. Her brows knit together, “Je voudrais sons. Pantalons cuir. Sons pantalons.”

Nick turns away, boner knocking over Eddie's soup, sitting uneaten. With shaky, mechanical hands, he pulled out a cigarette. Without looking, he lit it.

“Uh, Nick...” Nate warned.

Dead eyes glance at his hand. “Damn, I set my finger on fire again.” He blows on the flames, killing them. “That's a metaphor for how we all die someday.”

“Sons pantalons,” Curie says.

“She's right, Nick. I think you've had an emotionally draining day.”

“Eddie. Oh, Eddie Winter. A paramour, cheated just as badly as Jenny was.”

“You and Eddie were-” Nate got his point across with hand gestures: a fist squeezing through a hole made with the fingers on his other hand.

Nick continues narrating. “Usually.” He laughs, but there's no joy in it. “Usually, the wife was the jealous one, not the other woman.”

Suddenly, the room started spinning.

“Oh, God! Another flashback!” Nate cries, as they spin into the memory.

 

~~

Nate finds himself in a pre-war home. Not his, but similar in architecture and furniture. The floor is waxed, and the sun shines through clean, not-smashed windows. In fact, the windows are so clean, a bird flies into it, dying instantly.

“Oh!” Curie exclaims. “The past was just as violent!”

Nate stares at her.

“Uh, Um! Pantalons cuir!”

Nate nods in approval.

Suddenly, there's a clatter. “Take off your friggin' pants!”

“That sounds like Nick!” Nate says.

“Cuir!” Cuirie answers.

Slowly, they open the door and peak in to see what the commotion was. Then a voice, seeming to come from heaven, fills the room. “I'd always loved fisting men.”

Nate looked around, confused.

“Was that Nick?”

“Oui Oui.”

Nate's posture is the definition of disgusted body language. “Don't be so vulgar!”

There's another yell. “Eddie, get out! I'm piss!”

Nate and Curie exchange confused glances.

“I guess you were right, Curie, he is piss!”

They silently watch. Human Nick comes out of the bathroom. He's naked, save for his fedora.

“Oh! Wow! He was just as big back then.”

Or was he? Was this Nick's mind, tampering with the details of his past too painful to acknowledge?

“Good point, narration.”

Why, thank you, Nate. The narrator blushes.

“You're a good writer to- Wait... Wait! Is this DiMA?”

No!

“I think it is!”

Something shatters. Nate forgets about DiMA long enough to witness Nick knock over every table and chair with his dick as he made his way to the bedroom.

The two future fellas follow Nick.

As they approach the bedroom, they get an eyeful. Enough to eye-vomit. It's the most horrifying sight: Eddie

The man, looking just as ghoulish as ever, is on the end of Nick's right arm. I mean, Nick's arm was completely submerged, his hand sticking out of Winter's head like a big, gay crown.

“Christ!”

“Je voudrais sons!”

Nick brings Winter over to the bedside stand, having Winter pour a cup of tea while still on Nick's arm.

“Curie,” Nate says, “I don't know about you, but all I can think about is how strong he must be to support that man.”

“Je voudrais sons.”

“Do you do anything besides swear?”

“Oui.”

“Gross.”

They look back at the two manly men. They had become one. I'm talking, Nick's upper half completely consumed by Winter's ass. So far that it was Eddie as the top half and Nick's legs as the bottom half. A sick, very perverted game of indoor Marco Polo.

“Pst! Curie, how does one capture that which is being continually captured?”

Nick's bumping into everything and getting his dick stuck in the wall. He was talking, but it didn't make a difference, as he's much too muffled by the entire body of Winter.

“This is getting kinky.”

“Je.” Curie fans herself.

“Listen here, Potty Mouth! Can you try to keep a level head? Nick is trying to tell us something.”

They watch as Nick's completely consumed. Then, Winter squats, giving butt birth to Nick. Fifteen minutes of grunting, then fifteen minutes of squeezing. Nick hollers, “Please, don't stop!” Then Winter blew his top.

Nick was born, but as a literal baby!

“Oh my god!”

“Oui! Oui! Oui!”

The image distorts, then swirls away. The two find themselves back at Winter's hideout.

“I'd always hesitated telling them about my second birthday. I felt that I would be judged forever. First a trashbot, then a second born baby. What am I?”

“You're our 'friend'.”

Nick jumps, five cigarettes falling out of his mouth. “When did you two get here?”

“We've been here this whole time! We saw your flashback.”

“Sons pantalons.”

Nick started shaking. “And then I knew it. I had to kill them.”

Nate drew his gun.

“How did you know what I was planning, Nate?”

“You're narrating out loud!”

“That's nonsense!” Nick insisted.

Then, Nate's pushing the gun into Nick's mouth. The barrel, pressing against the back of Nick's throat, rubbing tubes and wires and speakers. All of which, coated in soot from years of smoking.

Seriously, kids. Don't even start.

Anyone else find this really Freudian?

“Shut up, DiMA!” Nate shouts at the sky.

From behind the weapon, Nick narrates still. His voice, muffled by the object. “Nate and I had been best friends for the longest time. Well, more than friends, for the most part.”

“Okay, Nick, enough.” Nate withdraws the gun, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let's – let's just go home.”

Nick's eyes turn sad. Oh god, please don't make that face! My heart, it can't take it!

The American Synth (American Joy, American Boy for always time) continued, as though Nate hadn't changed his mind. “That old saying... 'You always kill the one you love.'” Nick drew in a shaky breath for the melodrama. He doesn't have to breath. “Look: it works both ways.”

Nate slots the gun back between Nick's metal teeth. “One more Fight Club reference, and you're dead.”

Click, click, click, click.

It was not the sound of a gun, but a geiger counter.

Nate glanced at his Pipboy. “Jesus Christ! 100 rads per second!”

“Little did the two know this place oozed radiation. These walls? Pure granite. I watched as my boyfriend, one of many loves of my long life, melted before my eyes. And I didn't help him because he's an asshole.”

Nate and Curie frantically looked for their Rad-X and Radaway. Anything to save their lives. “Fuck! Nick, you even took my Hazmat suits? You detail-attentive cunt!”

“And then they died.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, listen to American Boy.


End file.
